And he wasn't the only one. Back at midwinter his father had been certain Lence's betrothal was for the best. More recently, the king had begun to doubt his own judgement. What clever insinuations was Cobalt planting to undermine the king's confidence?
As for his mother, why couldn't she see what Cobalt was? She was usually such a good judge of character, almost as if she could look into a person's heart. Maybe, if he went to her before Lence returned home, told her of Lence's accusation and…
'Byren?' Orrade whispered. 'We can check around the camp site tomorrow, see if there are signs of one or more men, who might have lured the pride down here.'
'Manticores are intelligent god-touched beasts with wills of their own.'
'I know. But if Piro can control the unistag, then someone with Affinity could — '
'Are you suggesting Cobalt has Affinity?' Byren's heart rate picked up. That would explain much.
He heard Orrade shrug. 'We don't know why Cobalt fought with his father all those years ago or why he left Rolencia.'
Byren smiled. 'I could ask the castle's Affinity warders to test Cobalt.'
If he had Affinity he'd have to join the abbey or leave Rolencia. A load lifted from Byren. He would get rid of Illien of Cobalt, then warn his mother before Lence accused him. She would help handle his father.
Relieved, Byren tried to get more comfortable on the tree's broad branch. He was in for a long night.
Piro did her best to keep up, but her legs were not as long as those of the men, and the snowdrifts were deep. Every step became an effort, making her breath burn in her chest. Plus she hadn't had much sleep last night. Byren's casual question about Cobalt and Lence had made her wonder if Cobalt had gone on ahead to lead the manticores to their camp. She'd come to the conclusion that only someone with Affinity could have lured the pride into the camp's vicinity and even then it would be a dangerous thing to attempt.
That time she'd touched Cobalt, she had thought he felt no emotion. What if he was walled? What if her mother was right and Affinity ran in their blood through King Byren the Fourth?
She would tell her mother and the queen would make the Affinity warders test Cobalt, and then he would have to leave and everything would be right again.
Or would it?
She had not been mistaken. Lence had tried to send her home by the safe road. Either he had meant to warn Byren and he'd named the wrong trail or…
Before this she would have been absolutely certain that Lence would never send Byren into the path of a manticore pride.
Now, Lence believed Byren was a Servant of Palos. What was wrong with him? She felt heartsick every time she returned to worry over the point, painful as a loose tooth. And she'd had plenty of time to think as they walked.
They ate without stopping, pausing for no more than a few minutes if one of them had to answer the call of nature. While waiting for Garzik, she surreptitiously leant against a tree trunk, pushing her pack up so that its weight didn't drag on her aching body. Byren noticed and, without a word, he took her pack off her back, shouldering it along with his. She sent him a grateful look. Garzik returned and they continued.
Today they went in single file, Orrade leading, then Piro, then Garzik and lastly Byren in the most dangerous position. It was easier without the pack, she found her second wind. But it was barely mid-morning and they had far to go.
Fyn debated if he should leave the abbey now, before spring cusp. It was hard living alongside his friends, listening to them boast and tease each other about becoming monks, knowing that he would desert them soon and they would not understand why. For many of them it would be confirmation of his cowardice. He was tempted to get it over with and leave now. His travelling kit was packed, ready to go. All he had to do was slip into the abbey's kitchen and take some food. But it was still a couple of weeks until spring cusp.
Fyn shivered as a chill ran over his skin. His stomach churned. He swayed and reached for a seedling tray to steady himself.
'Fyn?' Master Sunseed asked softly. 'Is something wrong?'
'Nothing.' He made himself continue potting up the delicate seedlings. 'Like this?'
The gardens master nodded. Today all acolytes helped in the gardens. If Rolencia was to harvest two crops before next winter, the abbey had to get the hothouse seedlings started early and distributed to the farmers.
All morning Fyn had been feeling ill. But then, he had been feeling sick at heart for days now. Feldspar would never forgive him for leaving. He was tempted to reveal his plan and ask his friend to come along. Lonepine would have agreed instantly, but Feldspar loved the abbey and everything it stood for.
Fyn's vision swam and this time he almost dropped the sprout.
Through the ringing in his ears he heard the abbey's bells toll out the death dirge. There were over seven hundred monks, acolytes and young boys in the abbey so the chance that the dead person was a friend of his was slim. Yet Fyn's throat ached with loss and his eyes prickled with a presentiment of tears.
Had something happened to Feldspar?
Alarmed, he met Master Sunseed's eyes. Around him the others had ceased work and were looking at the master, with varying degrees of concern and curiosity.
'Fyn, go find out who the goddess has reclaimed,' Sunseed ordered.
Fyn nodded. He wiped his hands once on his apron, fumbling as he untied it. As soon as he was out the door, he ran down the spiral stair, only to meet the history master coming up. Fyn stepped aside to let Hotpool pass, but the master paused.
His eyes held Fyn's, glistening with something Fyn could not interpret.
'My sympathy, Fyn Kingson,' Master Hotpool said.
His friend was dead? Fyn froze. He and Feldspar should have run when they had the chance.
'I believe you were close to the boys master.'
'M-Master Wintertide?'
'Oh, hadn't you heard?' Hotpool pretended surprise. 'Wintertide was found dead at his desk. The healers say his heart gave out.'
Fyn's mouth went dry. He didn't believe it.
'Don't put your faith in the mystics master, Fyn.' Hotpool leant closer. 'Catillum's supporters are not going to be around when he needs them. You would be much better to look elsewhere for a mentor. I could be very good for you.'
Fyn looked down to hide the anger that swelled up in his throat. He could just imagine what Hotpool meant, and he would be expected to spy on Master Catillum. 'I want nothing from you.'
'Do not be so quick to spurn — '
Fyn tried to push past him.
The master caught his arm.
'Let me go.'
Hotpool's lips pulled back from his teeth. 'You might be a kingson but that does not make you better than us!'
'No, it's what's inside a man that makes him better. And Master Wintertide was twice the man you are, or will ever be. He deserves his place in Halcyon's Heart.'
'And I don't?' Hotpool bristled.
Fyn instantly regretted his outburst. 'I'm sorry, master. I did not mean — '
'You meant exactly what you said.' Hotpool's eyes narrowed, then he smiled cruelly. 'I'll see you regret this when Firefox is abbot!'
Master Hotpool turned, marching up the steps towards the hothouse gardens.
Fyn's heart raced and he felt nauseous. While bending double to catch his breath he heard the history master's voice echo down the stairwell. He was announcing that the boys master was dead, and all work was to cease in his honour. By custom the whole abbey would pray and meditate while the dead master's body was prepared to take its rightful place in Halcyon's Heart.
He desperately wanted to say a private goodbye to his old master so he ran down the stairs, heading for Wintertide's chamber. But, when he entered, he found the bunk empty. For a moment he thought Wintertide's body had been stolen. Then he remembered… Hotpool said the healers had declared it was a heart attack so they must have collected his body and done their examination already.